The Patience of a Slytherin
by m r s . w r i t i n g
Summary: How does one fall in love with someone they've despised since childhood? To spend a summer with one of the most charming, seductive, and sinister Slytherins to ever walk the halls of Hogwarts would be to remember forever, but something their parents forgot to mentioned, they have been betrothed since birth. DracoxOC; M for Sex, Drugs, & Violence. Please R & R.
1. i

_I _

Well, I suppose it was a good thing that the school year was ending. Here I sat, in casual wear (thank Merlin) reading, and waiting. Basically that's what I always do on the ride home, but this time it was different. I was ending my sixth year, which meant this would be my last summer. Next year would be my last school year, and my dream of becoming a journalist would hopefully become reality. And then there was the feeling deeper in my stomach, way in the back. It's like how your mind has a subconscious. Well, back in the subconscious of my stomach (if that wasn't lunch) I felt something else. Perhaps something was afoot. I believe so. If not, thank goodness. If there was one thing I hated, it was change. And change was something I was not happy with. I become unbearable.

I sat my feet up in front of me with my book, my converse showing out of my jeans. The door slid open and the scent of berries filled the compartment. "Sorry," Onya said, peering through her beautiful think, dark curls, pushing her glasses up. Onya wore glasses, and let her hair hang in front of her dark eyes sometimes, but she was a gorgeous girl. If she wasn't so mean she would have a million boyfriends. It was her reasonability that killed me. How could someone be so mean to strangers and so damn reasonable when it came to her friends!? What a good friend to have, though; am I correct? "The line at the toilet was so long," she said. She was the only one of my three friends (the ones I hung out with the most, that would be) that didn't live in the states. I, myself, wasn't from the states, but Toronto, yet I lived in California with my mother, step father, and siblings, as my dad, The Minister of the American Wizarding District, lived in Arizona.

"So Princess," Onya laughed. She always called me that. I hated her guts for the name. Her calling me Princess gave Draco, hereby known as Dragon Boy, the best idea to do so as well. This defeated the original reason why I was sent to Hogwarts in the first place.

"Stop calling me that," I ordered. Yes, I could get anything I wanted, but it wasn't exactly because I was good at manipulation or was the most popular thing in school. I hated attention. I absolutely hated it, unless I was proving my enemies wrong. My father was Victorian Matthews. I could get anything I wanted because Wizarding World Britain were, well, to put it frankly, suck-ups to my father. I could ask Mr. Morrison, hereby known as Mr. Flippy Hair, for sex, and he would happily give it to me and in the middle of a lesson too. But I wasn't sure whether that was because he was into me or just a suck up as well. Man the world was easy today. "You know perfectly well, that's why Draco Malfoy calls me that."

"Patience," Onya chimed evilly, "you two would be a match made in heaven, or…" her eyes shifted in a confused manner as her brow furrowed, "hell…?"

I furrowed my brow as well, but replied with, "What makes you say that?"

"You both cause loads of trouble _and_ get away with it!"

"Do we now?" I stated sarcastically. Everyone in my school knew I was a trouble maker as well as Draco. But I played out my antics as a masterminded masterpiece. I also did it surprisingly inconspicuously. Draco was just into making people look bad and him look good, and he was willing to do anything to accomplish it. I had to admit; even though I hated him he was clever. He made excellent marks, and sadly he did the work himself. All of his friends were too stupid to have them do it for him. And if you can observe people and predict their actions in order to lead to a chain for events which would result in benefiting you, then you are quite clever. He, Draco I mean, is an absolute expert at it. I swear he's a teenage girl at heart. No one can spread smack quite like him. So despite my cruel indifference toward the fellow, I still held respect for his evil mind, but when it came to him as a person and his existence, and Merlin his presence, that was where the cruel indifference surfaced.

I cannot deny that I did not try to harm Draco's reputation in the past, because trust me, when you get bored, you'll go that far. But this was going to be a Dragon Boy-less summer. And I was going to enjoy it. I was quite happy with the idea until Dragon Boy himself showed up in the doorway of the compartment. "Well, it seems as if someone is talking about me?"

I peered up from my book, looking into the cold crystal eyes of the being I held such cruel indifference towards. His hair was slightly messy and he too wore casual attire. At the moment I regretted not thinking of bleaching all of his clothes. He stood there, both arms up on the frame of the door. His smirk was splayed across his face as the centerpiece of his malicious exterior. "Well, someone loves to interrupt," I said dryly, looking back down to my book.

"Well, it seems as if someone has nothing better to talk about than me," he shot back, a sneer in his tone. I rolled my eyes at the idea. Onya was the one to bring him up in the first place. Speaking of Onya, she stood as soon as Draco had shown himself and squeezed out of the compartment, leaving me alone with him.

And now, he was waltzing into the compartment and sat down next to me, propping his legs up on the bench in front of us, well, me, just as I had. He sat as if getting comfortable and looked at me, smiling casually. "What do you want, Dragon Boy?" I ordered, rolling my eyes and nonchalantly turning them back to my book.

"Just thought I'd get one last chance to annoy you," he said sarcastically. There was a silence when I didn't respond. "Plus," he added, the tone of victory in his tone, "I know something you don't."

"And like I care?" I laughed. "You, Draco Malfoy, are the last thing on my mind." I now stood, as did he, and looked him in the eye, hoping my straightforwardness would cause him to leave. But he stood his ground as always.

"Well, considering it involves you," he said, looking down on me with eyes that showed the hunger he harbored, the hunger to say something that he knew he couldn't, "I suppose I _could_ tell you. But it doesn't mean I will."

"I. Don't. Care." I stated sternly, grasping my book a little tighter than I should have.

"Good," he replied simply. "My will power is running out anyway. But I will see you at home," he smirked.

My brows furrowed in confusion.

What was he talking about?

**II  
**

At home, I wasn't alone for long. Trey, my sister, and Dean were in their rooms. My

Parents were no where to be seen. "Hey, you, midget," I stated to my annoying Trey, who was home from Beaux Batons for the summer, "where's Dan and Mom."

"They're packing." She pulled out a neatly pressed uniform and walked to her walk-in closet to put it away.

"Packing?" I repeated, confused. I was not told of them going on any trip.

"Yes, and after I'm done unpacking from school, I plan to pack for the summer."

"Um…where are we going?" The look on my face, the look of dumbfound, would have Dragon Boy laughing his head off at me.

"No," she corrected slyly, my step father's features shining, "_we_ are going to Rome…" and she stopped, an evil glint in her eyes. _Mental Note: Bleach all of her school uniforms. _"Perhaps mom and dad should tell you." And then I was gone. I was confused. I was getting the house all to myself for the summer! Or perhaps my five year old brother Dean would stay with me! This would be so sweet!

"Mom, what's this trip?" The wording was primitive, but my excitement and wariness had gotten the best of me by the time I had gotten to the master bedroom.

As soon as I saw my mother's dark brown eyes connect with my step father's blue ones, my heart stopped. They knew I was not going to like this. This had been my stomach's subconscious, or perhaps it was still lunch, but nonetheless, the feeling that something was going to happen was probably the prediction of this. Once I thought of my thoughts from the train ride home, I remembered Draco's words. How confused could one get?

"Dear," my mother began, walking over to me, grabbing my hands and then sitting on the bed, but I still stood. "There has been trouble in the Ministry in the last couple of days. And Dan and I need to take a business trip that will most likely take up the entire summer."

"Crap, I hate traveling," I closed my eyes.

"No, Patience," Dan cut in. "Just for that, you won't be coming."

My eyes opened and a smile spread across your face. "Don't think like that," my mother warned, reading my mind. "You won't be staying here alone; you'll be staying with some friends."

"I'll go call Lexi," I smiled, and turned but my mother held to one hand.

"That won't be necessary," Dan interrupted. The world stopped at his next sentence. "You'll be staying with the Malfoys."

This was where my heart dropped in astonishment, but there's no doubt my jaw beat it to the floor.

"Wait," I backed away from my mother, as if she were holding her wand to my throat, as if she were the enemy. Even though my mother and I agreed on nothing, she was a terrible person, and I hated her, I never thought she'd deliberately put me through so much hell. "What?"

"It's for the best," Dan tried to explain, attempting to make it easier for my mother.

"What!?" I repeated. It all made sense now. His extra-smugness on the train, his words, and the temptation he held to tell me. It was all made so much sense now. I was going to die.

"The Malfoys are close, close family friends," my mother tried to explain. "Patience, please try to understand!"

"What's there to understand, Mom!" I yelled. I couldn't believe I was yelling at my mother. I disliked her, but I held too much indifference towards her to yell at her. "You want me to die! You want me to just…" I was becoming hysterical, "become the victim of Dragon Boy in his own home!"

"Dragon boy?"

"Dickhead!"

"Hmm?"

"Draco Malfoy!" She eventually finished.

"You don't really call him those things do you??!"

"If you knew what he called me!"

"Okay calm down, everybody!" We all silenced, and I looked to Dan. His arms were held in the air.

"You're going!" My mother finished finally in a simple tone. Television material, this was.


	2. ii

II

The news truly did catch me by surprise. I wasn't sure what I wanted to do. I could run away, right? No, that wasn't a very good idea. Mother said that I couldn't stay with dad, because he was busy…too busy. I did not like this plan. I did not like this idea. I did not like what was to come. I just did not like it. And I had a cruel indifference toward Draco, so this would be an odd way to spend my last summer. With Dragon Boy.

Trey did not pass up the chance to rub my stay with the Malfoys in my face, either, so I was in a sour mood. The plane ride to Britain was not enjoyable. I was being accompanied by Rogan. He was my personal Contract, but, he had performed a spell to where he appeared solid. This spell came in handy, especially for times such as now. He had kept me company, and he had kept me from jumping off of the plane. It was odd, to find my little ghost friend in the form of a forty-year-old SOLID, REAL man, but I was used to it by now. He still disapproved of flying, so the entire time; he was stiff, holding onto the chair's arms for dear life.

But that was four hours ago. Now, at approximately 3:24 p.m., I stood in front of the Malfoy mansion. The yard was gorgeous, the grass green, the statues perfectly sculpted. The house itself was beautiful in its own way. Narcissa Malfoy had bragged about its age. I did not blame her. I had laid eyes one this house many times before, and never did it cease to amaze me. "Are you ready?" Rogan asked me from behind. He was still in his solid form. It would take effort to change him back, so I would save that for tonight, or at least after he helped me unpack, so I could get to the essential ingredients.

"I don't really have a choice, do I, Rogan?" I asked. I stared at the house sadly, standing in the middle of the courtyard where we had apparated. The wind blew through my long, brown hair, blowing it into my face. It was a rather morbid scene, for I was glad the look upon my face was rather heartbreaking.

"No," he replied in a sigh, feeling sadness for me, "I suppose not."

A few moments passed, and then I finally said, "Let's go." I began toward the house, ascending down the walkway. Rogan picked up my belongings (a perk for his solid form, might I add) and began closely behind. I had intention to knock on the door, but it swung open before I followed given the chance. I looked down, expecting a house elf, and my expectance was right. "'Ello Miss Patience. Do come in," he invited me. He wore a ragged pillowcase, just as they all did.

I loved the Wizarding world, don't get me wrong. But if there's something I might not agree with completely are house elves. If they're going to work for you, then you might as well give them decent clothes, man. I shook my head and entered before Rogan. "May I assist the Missus with her things?" the house elf asked.

Rogan shook his head. "No, I have them, thanks," he said a tad over protectively.

"Well, then," the elf replied politely. "I am Con. Let Con show the Missus in."

I nodded, smiling. I followed the small grey thing out of the foyer. This house was amazing: marble floors, velvet curtains, beautifully done drywall, antiques filling the house, and century old paintings. I may have hated Dragon Boy, but I loved his family's taste. I lost myself within the manor's beauty when I heard the echo of footsteps, alerting me of someone's arrival.

"Patience!" I looked up to the staircase. Descending down the marble was Mrs. Malfoy. It was apparent where Dragon Boy got his good looks, from his mother. She was gorgeous: her hair long, and platinum, flowing down to her waist, her figure lean and tone, covered perfectly with the cloth of her black dress that only came down to her knees. She was beautiful. "It's been so long!!"

"Has it?" I asked, feigning obliviousness.

"It has!" she confirmed. She collided into me, wrapping her long arms around me. I could feel the smile in her lips as she kissed the side of my head. Narcissa was a very lovely woman. She was a loyal woman, to her blood, her family, her husband, and to the Dark Lord. She, unlike me, was raised from a Death Eater family. My family was neutral. Or in other words, we did whatever benefited us. I had come to the conclusion long ago that if my father wasn't the Minister of the Wizarding America, a bounty would have been put on my family long ago. But, my father had power, power that the Dark Lord wanted. So, we would be persuaded. This is probably why I was here. For looks. For connections. It didn't make sense. I didn't even live with my dad. My parents were divorced. So why was my mother enforcing this?

"Well, if it isn't Mathews' child." That voice of his is so evil. Lucius Malfoy – I don't know if you would call him a loyal death eater. I think, deep down, he's a type of Neutral. I think that in his eyes, if he's the right hand of the devil, he'll stay out of the devil's path.

"Lucius," I greeted.

He smirked at me, as always. He made his way slowly down the staircase. "Draco has yet to show himself," he stated in a sigh, as if he were tired. "But he will shortly."

"But in the meantime," Narcissa interrupted, eyeing Lucius scornfully, "you should get settled in."

Lucius stopped in front of me. "Welcome to our home," is all he said, and as politely as I think he could have managed. His eyes were so cold, and so dark, just like his son's.

"It's a pleasure to be here," I replied automatically, staring into his icy eyes, defiantly.

"Pleasure to have you." He looked away completely apathetic.

Walking away, his footsteps echoed throughout the room. Narcissa's grip on my shoulder tightened, and led me to the staircase. "You, my dear, should unpack." She looked at the timid house elf, Con, who looked down, obediently, and left us. Rogan stood behind me, but I had forgotten him completely. I looked up at her smile as she shined down upon me. She was so beautiful. A part of me smiled, feeling comforted. I followed her lead. The staircase curved into the top floor, leading us into a long hallway. Portraits and pictures covered the long, dark walls. The eyes of the paintings followed us as we stepped down the hallway. We made a right into a different corridor where the rooms resided.

"At the end, there is another staircase that leads downstairs to the kitchen." Narcissa informed me. Draco's room is located in this hallway as well as yours." My stomach jumped. That was great. I could have cried out of frustration. "He won't cause you any distress, Patience," she informed me solemnly. "He will behave himself, and if he does not, do let me know." I nodded as I stopped at my door. The long, double oak doors sat under a golden plaque which read, "Patience". I smiled to myself. Starring upon that plaque made me feel as if within this entire mansion, one place was truly mine. "This room is yours." I stood back as her long, pale fingers wrapped around the gold door knob and opened it.

I stepped into the room, a smile crawling upon my lips. The centre piece of the room was the four poster bed, its sheets and canopies a powerful, yet still subtle crimson. To the right, was a set of open French doors, leading out onto a balcony. How nice. To the other side of the bed was the bathroom. My eyes scanned along the bedroom. The room was furnished with mahogany furniture. The door slammed, causing me to jump. Turning around, I saw Rogan, still in his solid form. "I see the charm hasn't worn off yet," I stated.

"I know! Isn't it wonderful!?" he chuckled.

"He's a very intelligent house elf," Narcissa spoke.

"Oh, he's not a house elf," I replied.

"What?"

"He's not a house elf," I repeated. "He's a Contract."

"Ah - excuse me?"

"A Contract, my dear lady," Rogan stepped in, "Is an eternally convicted wizard, forced to serve as a magical aid to a single Wizarding family for the rest of eternity." I smiled. Yes, Rogan was my convict. I laughed inwardly. "In the form of a spirit no less," he added with a sly smile.

"That's right," she turned to me. "Lucius used to have one, but it went off and got itself damned." She rolled her eyes at the irony. A damned soul getting itself even more damned? I could relate to such confusion. "Well, just don't go attracting any haunting ghosts, and you're fine," she joked.

Rogan's smile vanished as she left, laughing, but adding, "Enjoy your stay, Patience."

"I will."

Once the door had closed completely and the sound of Narcissa's footsteps furthered, Rogan said, "I do not like that woman!" in a stern voice.

I laughed. "Why is that?"

"I don't attract ghosts!? I'm not a ghost! I'm just not solid!" He was fairly angry.

I laughed at his melodramatic moment. "It's fine, Rogan. She was only kidding." I threw one of my suitcases onto my bed and began unpacking.

"I could do that for you?" he suggested.

"No, I've got it." I stated. I needed something to do on the inside of these walls. The more there was to do, the less I had to show myself before dinner. There was unpacking, arranging, showering, and getting ready for dinner. That would probably all take until dinner. I looked at the clock. "4:00 p.m." Or not.

"Move aside!" Rogan ordered. I sighed, letting him have his way. With a wave of his hand, every suitcase I had brought with me flew open and all of my belongings neatly put themselves away.

"Well, there goes my afternoon," I said sullenly.

"Oh, boohoo!" Rogan looked at me, annoyance portrayed by his features. "So, you didn't get to spend your summer eating, sleeping, and yapping! Big deal that you don't get your way, for once! You've been complaining for days. Shut up. Goodness." I stood, stunned by his words. He came toward me, turned me around by the shoulders, and pushed me toward the door. "You are going outside of this room! And you are going to find something to do else where!"

He actually pushed me through the door and out of my own room. "Rogan!?" I yelled in disbelief.

"And play nice!" And with that, he slammed the door in my face. I heard it lock from the inside.

I wasn't even going to try to pick it. I knew it would have been pointless to even attempt it. I sighed in frustration, tempted to kick the door, but that would only resort with a sore toe. Rolling my eyes, I turned into the hallway. I had to walk down this indecent length of a hallway. Finally, as I made it down the staircase, I heard voices. They didn't sound like Narcissa's or Lucius's. "Where are Narcissa and Lucius?" I asked a passing house elf.

"In their studies," he answered shyly, "Miss. Patience. Is there anything Moggie can get Miss. Patience?"

"That's sweet, Moggie, but no thank you," I replied. This would have been the perfect opportunity to be directed to the kitchen, but food wasn't my top priority. "Where's that noise coming from??"

"The back porch."

"Thanks, Moggie…" I trailed off. I began off, the sound getting louder and louder.

"Moggie is pleased to serve Miss Patience!" Moggie called after me.

I waved briefly and returned back to my path. The noise led me down a long corridor. At the end, there were two doors. They were large, rounded, and wooden. I took the left first. Opening it, a large kitchen was revealed to me. The walls were made of stone and house elves scurried about the dim room, hot pots in hand, along with dirty dishes. I went back into the hallway, leaving the elves to their duties and tried the other doors. As I neared it, the yelling voices got louder and louder. It sounded like there was a party somewhere or something. There was hooting and hollering that barely overpowered the blasting music. Curious as a cat, I opened the large wooden door, this one more difficult to manipulate.

And again! Another fucking hallway was revealed to me. I cursed the architect of this big ass mansion. This hallway was identical to the kitchen, long stone walls and stone floors. But, the reflection of water covered the right wall. As I furthered down the hall, coming across a large doorway, I noticed that I had come across the inside pool room. The room was empty, the water calm. The only sound was the sound of the slow waterfall at the other side of the room. I continued on into the hallway until I came to the end. The noise was at its greatest volume now. I could even make out the band playing. To my right, was another wooden door? Opening the door, sunlight was revealed to me. Apparently, this was the door to the back yard.

The door led onto a deck. As I stood on that deck, my jaw fell. "Rogan, I hate you," I said to myself. Outside every Slytherin Quidditch player was in sight. Not only this. They were wet. They were shirt less. And they were in the pool, on the side of the pool, on the grass playing with Frisbees. Crap. They were on the fucking roof!! It was bad when you were standing before fifteen rather fit guys. And only probably six of them were drop dead ugly…

Blaise Zabini stood on top of the cabin, about to jump off of it, along with the waterfall. Marcus Flint was back stroking in the deep, less crowded end of the pool. Several guys I'm not sure I knew by name were at the grill. I blushed, and turned away, ready to make a run for it before anyone noticed. But before I could successfully make my escape, I ran into something tall, hard, and wet. Looking up, fearing the worst, I came into contact with two crystal orbs and a smirk.

"Well, if it isn't our little princess?" For the first time since my arrival, I had run into Dragon Boy. He too was shirtless and soaked, his platinum locks slicked back by the pool water. He looked…rather…dashing, if I do say so.

I rolled my eyes in annoyance. "Dragon Boy," I spat. Pushing past him, I tried to make a run for it back through the hallway, but he wasn't gonna let me go that easily. I could hear his footsteps as I descended down the hall to the door.

"Enjoying what you've seen so far?" he teased.

"Hardly," I spat, refusing to let him know that I didn't exactly find the sight of him revolting.

"Oh, come on. I'm sure you enjoyed the…" he paused to search for his words. I stopped, turning to look him straight in the eye. "Customized views?" he finished with a smirk.

"Go blow yourself," I retorted sourly.

"No need. I've many others to do that for me," he laughed.

I growled and slammed the door, making my way into the kitchen. This was going to be such a long summer…


	3. iii

III

"I hate him, I hate him, I hate him," I muttered to myself as I made my way up to my room. I knew that it had only been a couple of minutes since I had left my room, but I banged on the door and I ordered for Rogan to let me in. "Rogan, it's my room, and I'll get the house elves to unlock it if I need to!" I heard a sigh on the other side of the door.

I heard Rogan fiddle with the lock, and two seconds later the door swung open allowing me entrance. "Why do I even bother?" he asked, rolling his eyes.

"I couldn't tell you," I replied, annoyed.

"What happened?" Rogan asked, falling onto my bed. "Hm, it's been a while since I've been able to feel comfort," he added, more to himself than to me as he snuggled into the thick, fluffy comforter.

"I ran into Dragon Boy, that's what happened," I replied to him, and then added, "And if you keep mentioning the solid-thing, then Karma's gonna bite you in the ass and you're gonna end up falling through the bed!"

He snorted. "Sure, like I believe in Karma…" I just gave a small laugh. "So, is that what that noise is?"

"Yeah!" I made my way to the nightstand, on the left side of the bed, and began flipping through my purse, looking for my muggle-things. "He has the _entire_ Quidditch team out there _partying_ and _swimming_!"

Rogan rolled his eyes.

I turned to him, pointing my finger toward the window, "And I bet you anything his parents think that's practice!"

"Well they are here, so I think they can fend for themselves, Patience."

"Well, he's a lying, deceiving snake…" I said in defense. "And he has his parents wrapped around his fingers!"

Rogan gave a loud "ha!" and said, "And you don't!?" Surprised, I stared at him, with a confused expression upon my face.

"…what?"

Rogan got up immediately and began toward me, my purse completely forgotten. "If you asked your father to _buy_ Italy for you he would, and your mother may be hard to convince – but only because she's a…well…" he struggled for the words, "a bitch – but you can always get your Step-Father to convince her."

I turned back to my purse, in denial. "Nonsense."

"It's not nonsense, Patience," he urged. "It's true, and you know it."

"I refuse to believe it," I said, even though I _was_ denial. I could have my parents do anything I wanted them to for me. Yes, I would have to beg my mother, but Dan was helpful with that. And all I needed to do was look at my father. My older sister Jamie and I were his only children, other than the unborn child his current wife Linda is carrying ((Trey and Dean were Dan's)). So Jamie and I only needed to blink at him, and he'd give us what we wanted. And my mother knew this! She forbade me to so as much look at an owl so I could contact him, because she knew I'd have him send me somewhere else, other than the Malfoys'.

"But mom's not here, now, is she?" I said allowed, a smirk forming upon my lips.

"What?" Rogan asked with a confused expression upon his face.

"So, Rogan, where'd you put my potions binder?" I turned to him, a sly expression on my face.

"Um, in the walk-in closet in the back, why?" He pointed to the door of the walk-in closet, and I quickly made my way to it. Burying myself in it, I looked for the light. After searching for it, Rogan showed up behind me, a hand on my shoulder, and flicked his other hand, causing the lights to appear magically. "Better than a wand," he said trying to seem indifferent yet with swagger.

I rolled my eyes. The walk-in closet near the door was full of my clothes, followed by my shoes a little further back, and then there was an assembly of bookshelves, shelves of useful potion-making items, and then some boxes most20likely full of potion-making ingredients. I smiled, happy with myself. "Sweet."

"Must you use such vernacular?" Rogan sighed from behind me as I began my way down the closet.

"Why, yes, I must," I replied in a nonchalant-fancy tone. Reaching the back of the closet, I gathered my needed ingredients and threw them into a mini cauldron.

"Shall I help with that?" Rogan offered, probably just wanting to show off some of his solid-ness.

I shook my head and gathered a few more items, threw them into the cauldron, and then made my way around Rogan, back into the bedroom, and then to the bathroom. Rogan followed. My room had two windows in the bedroom, and two in the bathroom. My room was in the same hall as Draco's, but mine was at the very end of the hall, in the corner of the household. Yes, I was more prone to climate catastrophes, but eh, I'll live. I wasn't complaining.

Rogan automatically shut the bathroom door. "Got use to the system by now, huh?" I laughed at him.

He stood annoyance clear upon his face. "Well, as many times as I've had to be the watch-out for you at school while performing your little stunts, yes, I am!" he retorted in a sour tone. "If I could quit…" he muttered.

"If you could quit, Rogan," I sang over my shoulder as I climbed on top of the bath tub and opened the window, "You wouldn't, because you love me." I smirked at him, and then fell to my knees in front of the cauldron that I had set in the middle of the bathroom.

"Won't you need to boil it?" he asked me.

"Nope." I paid no more attention to him as I mixed up all my ingredients, crushing what needed to be crushed, powdering what needed to be powered, and I added a few droplets of water. A little bit of water always let the particles in the thick batter move around more easily, which gives you a better visual when you throw it into the fire. "Viola!"

"Wow," Rogan laughed at me.

I gathered the small amount that I needed and began to the fireplace in my room. "Rogan," I ordered, and out of habit, immediately he lit the fireplace. I threw in my powder, and merely waited.

It was like an orgy of colors, morphing into each other, and in the back of my mind as I watched them combine into one another music began to whisper itself into my ears.

And in the distance of that music, I heard my father's voice, faint but understandable. "What in the name of--" I heard from the other side. And soon, within the flames, I saw my dad's face. It was formed by the flames, of course, but I could make him out better than if I hadn't added those few droplets of water. "Patience?"

"Dad," I greeted.

"What are you doing?" Confusion was clearly present in his voice.

"Mom wouldn't let me contact you," I replied. He looked nothing like my handsome, brunette father that most girls died over in public. He looked like manmade of fire, like a fictional superhero in the muggle world that dominated the big screens.

"What?" he asked. "Patience, where are you?"

"At the Malfoys! That's why I contacted you," I spoke into the flames. "I don't really wanna be here. I came home from a long sixth-year at that Hell called Hogwarts only to come back, with mom yelling, "Time to go to the Malfoys!" I mimicked her dramatic voice. "I know I've done some crappy things, Dad, but this kind of punishment is over doing it. You need to come and get me, I beg of you."

"I know you're miserable right now, Patience, of that I'm sure, hon but retrieving you won't be possible." He wore straight and emotionless. Something told me that merely batting my eyelashes wasn't going to get me what I wanted.

"Wh--"

"Don't interrupt!" He stopped me. "Now, I'm aware that you don't want to be there, but we've no choice. We have our reasons for you to spend your summer with the Malfoys."

"For what reason!?" I asked in a harsh laugh.

"That I'll explain another day. I'll send for you. Until then, _behave_!

"Dad!" I yelled in frustration.

The flame died in such a quick amount of time, that I knew that my father had caused the communication to die. I sat there, biting my lip in anger. "I'm sure he has his reasons," Rogan said behind me in a sad tone. So I was actually going to have to spend my summer days here? And _send for me_? What did he mean by _send for me_? What in the _hell_ does that mean? I was so angry, I could have vomited. I got up, and began pacing quickly. I always hated Draco, but before that moment, I didn't actually think I was gonna have to live with the bastard.

God help me.

"I'm sure there's a good reason behind this!" Rogan tried again.

"I'm not, and there probably isn't," I muttered in the most hateful tone that I could muster. "This is probably punishment for the pranks, and the suspension!"

"No, your father's not heartless… Your mother is, but not Victorian? Never…" Tears almost fell in my anger, and Rogan noticed. "Write Jamie," he began softly, "later tonight, and she'll probably give you some details if she knows any." I looked at Rogan. His expression was sorrowful, and genuine at that. His brows were furrowed, showing that he was just as confused as I was, and his voice reflected his feelings. "It won't be _that_ bad, Patience." I glared at the man for a minute. Really? _Not that bad?_ "Think of it this way!" he added optimistically, "It's the perfect opportunity to make his life a living hell."

The angry expression faded. Rogan had a smile on his face, forcing one upon mine, and I couldn't help but smile. "Well…we could put some rat poisoning in his underwear, and put some laxatives in his food…" I said in a small voice.

"Exactly! Easier access to all of his belongings."

"I could flirt with his friends," I added in a more energetic tone, turning around. "He'll get so pissed." Falling onto my bed, I stared at the canopy, enjoying the lovely subtle crimson. Many things of what I could do to make Draco's life a living hell, things that I couldn't pull off at school, ran through my thoughts, racing one another to the finish line of willingness. An evil smile crept upon my lips.

"See?" Rogan smiled at me. Leaning back, he aimed to fall onto the bed, but fell right through, disappearing beneath the floor.

My heart racing, forgetting Dragon Boy completely, I shot up. "Rogan!?"

The front door swung open, and in the doorway was Rogan with a sullen expression. "The charm wore off," he said sadly.

"Hmph," I shook my head. "Does Karma suck now?"

"Oh, you!" he replied in frustration.

**II **

It was dark in my bedroom, and I was alone. Rogan had left for his nightly wandering hours ago. "Don't wait up," he said, like he always does. I couldn't sleep, and I knew I wasn't going to be able to sleep. The heavy feeling in my stomach wouldn't go away, which was surprising because I didn't even eat dinner. I knew if I did, I'd probably vomit it up. Con informed me that Dragon Boy wouldn't be attending dinner, but still, I didn't want to risk getting too upset. I didn't want to be here. I even missed home, because the thought of being here was so volatile. I didn't write Jamie like I had intended earlier that day. I would do it in the morning. I just felt like doing nothing, so I showered and fell into bed, hoping for sleep. But there I lay, my thoughts telling me, "There's a way to get out of this mess, just find a way."

I turned over to my side, away from the bathroom door, so I could face the window. The balcony doors stood open, the wind mingling with the curtains. I took a deep sigh, thinking of Rogan. I always wondered what Ghosts did at night. Contracts could either linger around their attachment as long as they could, which was the locket located around my neck, or they could retreat into their locket. I don't know what it's like in there. Rogan hasn't ever told me, and I doubt he ever will. I know it's not dreadfully terrible, or he wouldn't retreat into the locket whenever trouble is afoot, or I'm angry with him.

But each night, he would just wander around, in the house, outside, I'm not sure. But he would wander, and I'm sure that all he's doing is thinking, sinking into himself. He can't feel. He can't touch. He is a ghost. He has lost all pleasure in life other than mental pleasures such as friendship. And due to the attachment, he can't fall in love because he can never have a real relationship with someone. In his past life, he had formed too many illegal spells that risked his fellow deatheaters' exposure. So he was executed by his own friends and family. As he traveled into the after life, he was denied the right, and was ordered to an eternity of banishment from both death and life. He regrets it, everyday, every spell, every law he broke. He regrets all of it, and he cannot fix it.

This is why he is such good friends with my father. My father is a neutral person. He believes in what is right, yes, but he and my mother believes in what benefits them and their children. That's one of the reasons why my parents divorced. Victorian Mathews _portrays to the world_ that he believes in what is right. Diana Rues is neutral. She follows her _instincts_, not a label. And honestly, I agree. Rogan believes in doing what he thinks is right. Yes, Dad does practically lie to the country he serves, but he has good reason. Rogan and his colleagues performed the evil they performed simply out of habit and addiction.

Black magic is addictive, which is one of the reasons why Deatheaters are so lethal. Most can't stop what they do. Rogan was like that. He ended up like this purely because –

I didn't want to think about it anymore. The thoughts were sickening, and the fact that I was staying in the house of one of the most renowned followers didn't help. My stomach growled violently, I groaned in annoyance. I wouldn't be able to sleep on an empty stomach, so I don't even know why I tried. I got up, whipping the comforter back. The mansion was quite large, and if I moved with the locket around my neck, Rogan would have to come with me. So, I reached under my long brown locks and unclasped the century old accessory and laid it on top of my pillow.

Making my way down the staircase, I heard loud fits of laughter. The Quidditch team still hadn't left! Arriving at the bottom of the staircase, I could hear word for word. They were talking about some bimbo that one of players had laid. Nothing juicy, nothing interesting. I rolled my eyes at the fact. As I continued to the sitting room, so I could get to the kitchen, I kept a keen interest in their conversation, but nothing occurred that I found entertaining. They're the most wanted boys in Slytherin - and in some cases, the school - yet they weren't interesting? Hog swallow. They just weren't drunk enough, yet, was all.

The boys were in sight as I actually made my way into the sitting room, heading for the hallway that I had found earlier. I glanced in their direction, noting that it was in fact the entire Quidditch team, ((even the ugly ones)) and then looked away. I heard whispers, and I heard laughs.

The whispers quieted when I heard, "Well, congrats on the nice lay, Draco." I stopped dead in my tracks. Out of habit, I drew my bottom lip in between my teeth, and bit down, almost drawing blood. I swiftly turned on my heels, to see that it was Marcus Flint who had made the verbal gesture. _Several_ remarks ran through my mind. But all I wanted was to make a sandwich and go to bed. So, I made it as simple as I could.

I turned around and dryly retorted, "Eat me."

I continued down the hall, hearing over my shoulder, "Yeah, like I haven't heard that one before," clearly said by Draco.

"Yeah, Dragon Boy, you hear it every night," I called back in an indifferent, swagger tone.

Once in the kitchen I looked through the many assortments of bread and meat. I sighed to myself, not even knowing why I even bothered to make a sandwich. "What in the hell…" I said to myself.

"Is there something Con can help Miss Patience with?" Jumping out of fright, Con popped up beside me unexpectedly. "Did Con scare Miss Patience?" I shook my head, breathing deeply, and looked back inside the fridge.

"No, Con, you didn't scare me. I just want a sandwich is all." Giving up and letting Con make the damned sandwich, I sat at the island.

"What does Miss Patience want on her sandwich?" the tiny house elf asked, pushing a stool up to the island.

"Wheat bread, American cheese, turkey, and some chips would be lovely," I replied as Con climbed up the stool. The very ingredients I had just called out levitated their way over to him, and he looked at me.

"Chips?" he said simply.

"Surprise me." A small container of what looked like pretzels floated to Con. Pretzels weren't chips, but they would do. "Thank you," I yawned, pulling my knee up to my chest, resting my chin upon it.

"Con is happy to help Miss Patience," he replied cutely.

I smiled at his cuteness. Con handed me my plate and dismissed himself. I lifted the sandwich up to my mouth, but paused when I heard the kitchen door open. Immediately, expecting it to be Draco, I turned, only to see that it was Blaise Zabini. "Um, Zabini?" I asked, a little surprised.

"Matthews," he stated curtly.

I rolled my eyes, turned to pick my plate up, and stood. By the time I had turned to the door he was right in front of me. "No, it's fine. I'm just getting a water, is all."

"Mhm…" I didn't believe him. "Sure, I'll let you know when I believe it."

"What's wrong with you?" he retorted, in almost an offended tone. "You always act as if someone's out to get you."

I couldn't help but look at Blaise… _I couldn't help but look at Blaise like he was an idiot. _"Excuse me?!" I laughed in disbelief.

"Well, okay," he added, "maybe there is."

"Dumbass…" I muttered and took a bite out of my sandwich.

"Excuse me?" His tone was short and curt.

My mouth was full, yet I spoke anyway. "Nothing…"

Blaise reached into the fridge, grabbed several glass bottles of water, and then several glasses from the cupboard. He turned back to the island and began to fill each glass with water. "I don't even know why Draco tries," he began dismissively. "It's not like you care."

"Uh-huh..." I continued eating.

"Well, you don't, do you?" he asked.

I shook my head.

"I didn't think so." Okay, was he defending me?

"Okay, so why are you putting in the effort to justify me?"

"I'm not justifying you," he disagreed, glancing up at me, a little harshly. Blaise was a harsh fellow. He wasn't nice, but he wasn't mean like Draco. He was indifferent, and he didn't put in extra effort be nice. But yet, he wasn't being semi-humane at the moment.

When in a room with Blaise, you feel as if you're an inch tall. The way he carries himself is terrifying. The way he doesn't talk makes you curious about him. And the way that he does talk makes you want to bite your tongue off. I, on the other hand, had no interest in Blaise as a human being or even so much as a thought. As far as I was concerned, he didn't exist to me. And it was that simple. But yet, here he was, alone in the kitchen with me, telling me how I didn't care about Draco. Babe, I know this.

"Fine," I gritted my teeth in frustration, "why are you _defending_ me?"

"Because quite honestly," he looked up at me with an indifferent expression, "I -"

"Blaise, water isn't that difficult to manage." I turned around to see Draco standing in the kitchen door way, his arms crossed over his chest.

"Neither is the snitch," Blaise automatically replied, easily balancing the six glasses in his arms. "Later," he didn't even bother whispering. Draco shot a glare at me, and I replied to it with a smile.

"Matthews," he spat.

"Dragon Boy."


	4. iv

_Author's Note:_ Patience is a very bright, fun, colourful person, and I tried to portray that in this chapter, and I'm trying something new. Considering this story is in first person, I decided that it would be all right and not too far fetched, to add some slang, vernacular, and plain-ole personality into the writer's (Patience's) words. So yes, this style should be a little different from my typical professional, third-person style, but I also think that this style is needed. I hope that this way you can get to know Patience.

IV

"Dear Sister," I read aloud to Rogan, "I'm completely and utterly miserable. I'm stuck in a house with Draco Malfoy, mother of all assholes. What else could you expect? I've already contacted Dad and he refuses to help me, and I'm assuming he's forbade you to come and get me, as well. But I understand. He's not a stupid man. Of course, he's thought of everything. Perhaps he'll feel guilty if you tell him how miserable I am.

"Drama aside, I still just want to sleep in my own bed again, and to be able to shower in my own bathroom. Rogan's not even happy! And the man can't even walk! I know you can't send me help, but perhaps you can send me your sympathies." I looked up at Rogan, for his approval.

"I will have you know," he retorted, "the only reason I am not happy is because you have done nothing but complain since we have arrived! Not because I share some…_grudge_ against the Malfoys!"

My mouth fell in astonishment. "Honestly Rogan! Can you not feel a _little_ bit sorry for me?!" I exclaimed.

He only straightened, and in a matter-of-factly tone, he replied strongly, "No! I do not."

I drew my bottom lip between my teeth, and bit down; trying not to say anything too horribly to the only friend I had with me. I, to be honest, I was pissed. I abhorred Draco Malfoy, only because I detested him too much as a person to feel indifference towards him. I did care! Because now his bad personality affected me directly.

"Look," Rogan began, hovering over the bed in a sitting position, "you can either express your hatred for this family and battle them the entire time, or you can try to make amends for at least the summer, so you can survive until your seventh year." His brows rose, looking at me with an earnest expression. He did have a point, but my pride and ego hesitated. "And not to mention Patience, my survival…depends on yours!"

"HA!" I proclaimed sarcastically, angrily. "You actually had me going there!" He was doing well until that last statement. "As if you really cared about my well being, in some form or fashion instead of passing judgment."

"Oh? _I'm_ passing judgment," he chuckled. I got up from under the covers in the bed, and crossed the room to the dresser, and there I began to yank the brush through my hair, my anger dulling the pain of my tender scalp. "Name something that you truly know about Draco Malfoy _personally_ that justifies you labeling him as a _terrible_ person?" A tone of victory laced his voice. Snarky.

As I continued to brush my hair, I also began to think, running all of my memories of Dragon Boy through my mind. Images of he and his lackeys tormenting my openly bisexual friend, Logan, for his sexuality, ruining several of his days. He would make fun of this Granger chick in Gryffindor for being of muggle blood. And he would constantly dog on the famous Harry Potter, who I formally called Wonder Boy. He also picked on Wonder Boy's best friend, Ronald Weasley, who I've actually become alright friends with, and have lovingly nicknamed him Robin Hood, for his secret opinions, that he firmly believed in. (Detention with McGonagall, isn't it lovely?)

I could think of lots of reasons, actually. But these reasons mostly revolved around Dragon Boy picking on people, and treating them badly. Yes, he was a womanizer, and yes, he did insult people. But Draco was a prick. This was common knowledge, especially around my own crew, who thoroughly disliked his. (His friends weren't the only dudes with the guts to pull a few pranks.) But as far as I knew, he made good grades, and he didn't cheat because he wasn't exactly valedictorian material. He was athletic, taking up the seeker's position when we were only twelve.

"Perhaps he's not a _horrible_ person," I gave, "but he is an asshole." Turning back to look at Rogan, I saw that he had adopting something that was somewhat close to a smile. I added, "I don't think he would put enough effort into hurting somebody to be established a horrible person." And the smile was gone.

There was a knock on the door, and I turned to the door as I sat my brush down, hoping that my visitor was ready for me in a tank top and rather inappropriate booty shorts. Sleep is sleep. Mrs. Malfoy was lucky I wasn't sleeping in the nude under her roof.

"Door," I sang to Rogan, pulling my hair up.

The door swung open on Rogan's command, and in my door way, or her door way, stood Mrs. Malfoy herself. The nude comment still stands. "Hello dear," she called cheerfully. I always assumed that the Malfoys would be gloomy. Well, Lucius is always gloomy, but when I met Mrs. Malfoy at a wedding when I was nine, I was surprised to see that she was actually a happy, optimistic person. She balanced Lucius. He never smiled, only smirked. He's probably where Dragon Boy acquired his amazing social skills. "I hope you slept well."

I turned to properly greet Mrs. Malfoy, when I saw that she was wearing slacks. This came to me as a shock. "Good night! You're wearing pants!" I stated obviously in a tone of blatant astonishment. Mrs. Malfoy, being the wife of famous Lucius Malfoy, seemed to set an example for wives of husbands involved in the war – whether on the good side, or the bad side. She was always professional, never showed too much emotions, polite but not a pushover, strong, and very, very feminine. And this pleased me, because now apparently women have welcomed the concept of pants into the wardrobe for anybody with boobs and tucked in organs. I myself only wore skirts unless I was on a date, trying to get a date, or if it was really hot outside.

She threw her head back in laughter. "Is that surprising?" she asked.

"I've only ever seen you in skirts," I replied, still dumbfounded.

"Well good morning to you too," she chuckled, taking a seat on my bed.

"I'm sorry," I gave, "Good morning." I looked through my dresser drawers and pulled out an over-sized t-shirt. I wasn't going to change pants in front of her, and I wasn't going to leave the room, so I just decided to cover up myself. And I don't do robes.

She began as I added my extra layer. "I came to see if you had planned joining us for breakfast," she smiled softly.

I stopped dead in my tracks; I was caught completely off guard. "So you missed me, last night, I see," I said comically, sitting next to her cross-legged.

"Indeed. I was looking forward to spending time with you."

We were certainly a visual to be reckoned with. She sat, in a very lady like position, knees together, palms held within one another, and here I sat cross legged, leaning on my left knee. Complete opposites. But then again, she was a happily married forty year old woman with a kid and I might as well have fallen out of a muggle Grunge Rock magazine. "Seriously?" I didn't think that I would be missed. I actually felt like I was imposing on this family. I didn't want to be here, yet I was. And I was still technically wasting Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy's space and air.

"Draco might not be able to keep his mouth shut, but I've always liked you," she commented with a large smile. "Your father is a very good friend of mine. He and I used to fight like you and Draco, you know."

"Get out…" I replied with my "hooligan lingo" or so my mother would put it.

"No, no, it's true," she giggled, as if spilling some great gossip. How funny. "When we were children we fought like cats and dogs, but we at least put our difference aside by the time we started school. Victorian and I both knew that trouble was a foot when you and Draco were still fighting through your _third_ year."

"What did you expect to happen, for us to become best friends forever?" I couldn't help but joke.

"Yes, actually." This was when my brow rose. "There's a long line of alliances between the Malfoys and the Matthews, and you two are the first to actually hold a conflict for this long." Her eyes glanced away from mine and she stared into space. "You and Draco are too close of age for this to be ignored. Your sister is even good friends with my niece, Lydia."

For future reference, Lydia is the younger sister of Myrtle, whom was the bride of the wedding Draco and I met at.

I knew about Lydia. She and Jamie weren't best friends, exactly, but they were _reliable_ friends. When Lydia ran away from her parents, she needed a place to stay for a while, one that wouldn't be too obvious, so she bunked with my sister that night, the summer we were at my dad's house. I never really spoke with her, but I remembered showing her where the glasses were in our kitchen late that night, so she could help herself to a glass of milk. I also remember telling her that I was sorry her parents were so mean to her. I remember the look in her eyes, the appreciation, and surprise. The surprise that a complete and total stranger could still care about her. It was like a cat becoming fascinated with the flushing of a toilet. "Where does the water go?" But instead, "Why does this person care about me when she doesn't even know me?" It was then I realized that the Malfoys and the Blacks – that entire tree in general – weren't exactly a line full of sentimental parents and brethren.

"I just hope that you two can see past your differences-"

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Malfoy, but I'd pay to see that happen." I know that my attitude wasn't positive, but I seriously couldn't see us ever being friends. "I found my parents making me stay here for months rather cruel, actually. No offense…" I was being an ungrateful guest now, but hopefully I'd get kicked out this way.

"It pains me to know that this dislike is so strong you felt you had to skip dinner, last night." She adopted an expression of remorse. "If Draco does cause you a problem, I know that you can handle it, yourself. You're no dimwit."

"Thank you!" I replied excitedly! She took the right tactic. Feeding my ego. I know I'm no idiot, but basically she just admitted that I could own her son if he opened his fat mouth.

"And I'm sure you wouldn't have to retaliate. Because he should be on his best behavior, especially with Blaise around."

"Um, excusez-moi?" I replied quickly. Oh, I caught that part just fine! Blaise? I heard Rogan let out a loud laughter in the back of the room somewhere.

She chuckled. "Nothing; Con will be up in a moment to deliver today's schedule."

She placed her hand on my knee, and smiled at me somewhat lovingly. She smiled at me the way Linda does, and Linda and I were tight. I liked Linda more than my own mother.

Mrs. Malfoy left, closing the door behind her. "Now when did you take up French?" Rogan voiced, amused.

"Huh?" I raised my eyebrow, not exactly following him. I was still pondering what had just happened.

"That 'excusez-moi' number," he chuckled, grabbing his stomach in laughter.

"Careful there Casper," I threatened dryly, while pulling off my shirt. "Laugh any harder and you'll fall through the floor."

Again there was a knock at the door and I assumed that this time it was Con. "Door," I ordered, and automatically, Rogan opened it for me. My little elf, Con, came waddling in, as cute as ever with his big innocent yes.

He looked up at me, as the door closed behind him, with an expression portraying admiration he would feel for somebody. "Did Miss Patience sleep well?" he asked hopefully.

Butterflies fluttered and my heart sank at his cuteness. He gave me the feeling Paul, my cat, gave me whenever he did something cute when he was a kitten. (My cat has a history of sleeping in bushes…) "Yes, Con, surprisingly, I slept very well." The bed was as comfy as hell.

Rogan rolled his eyes as he saw me fawning over Con, and quickly he retreated into the locket that lay on the nightstand. "Spare me."

"Con must deliver the days' schedule to Miss Patience, now. Is Miss Patience going to shower?" he said as he pulled the tiny stool that sat beside the wardrobe out into the open floor.

'Yes, I think it might be best." I sighed. I bathed the night before, but I also slept rather hard. Perhaps it would be better to wash the sleep away and the evidence of yesterday night.

"Then Con will check with things downstairs while Miss Patience does so." He hopped off his stool and took his tiny steps to the door, smiling and bowing to me before shutting it behind him in his leave.

"Run hot water for my shower, please," I called out to Rogan.

"Oh come on! I'm not a _slave_!" Rogan cried back in refusal, mostly surprise at my range of laziness.

"Do it, Ghost!"

So I concluded that maybe I wasn't completely imposing on the Malfoys. Mrs. Malfoy seemed to like me, and she loved my dad. I knew my dad had ties with her, but when you like and respect somebody, you're not exactly obligated to like their kids, too. Also, I suppose Draco and I screwed up that system up. It's not my fault. He shouldn't be an ass. I'm a very likable person. Yes, perhaps I'm a little vain, and there's nothing wrong with loving yourself, but I'm only mean to people who cause me trouble. Like Pansy Parkinson, or Marcus Flint when he's drunk. Or Draco. Slytherin as a whole is full of rude and unkind teenagers.

When I got out of the shower, I wrapped myself up in a towel, and as I stepped into the bedroom, I saw Con already sitting on the stool. He smiled when he saw me. Apparently, he didn't mind my being in a towel. Thank God, someone who's not entirely modest. I've met my equal. "Is Miss Patience ready for the schedule?" he asked sweetly.

"Hit me with your best shot," I joked, retreating to the closet and immediately began toward a pair of lazy pants. I was too used to schedules being _delivered_. When living with a minister, you're exposed to fancy shit all the time. When I stay with my dad, during the summers, most of the time, I'm not surrounded by him, but by nannies, governesses, and house elves.

"Breakfast is always served at 8:30 every morning," he began. "Meals are not formal."

"No jammies at the breakfast table!" Rogan sang from his locket, so _very_ randomly. Even Con gave him a confused look.

"Yes, no pajamas at the breakfast table," Con continued, despite Rogan's odd interruption.

"Well there goes that outfit," I announced, defeated, dropping the lazy pants.

"And Mrs. Malfoy has a request," Con called to me.

"Yeah?"

"She wishes for you to wear your hair back during meals."

The request was odd, but still reasonable. "Okay, but why?"

"There was an incident a year ago, and young Master Blaise's hair was caught on fire," he explained, his tone changing from formal to wary.

"Do I even _want_ to know?" I asked, point blank, sticking my head out of the closet, curious as to how in the hell that managed to happen. The little elf's ears fell, eyes widened, and he shook his head. The crap that goes down in this family, I swear. "Continue."

"Lunch isn't set at any specific time, but the Mister and Missus eat together at the same time every day, and Young Master Draco eats whenever he pleases." Sounds like him. "Dinner is at 7:00, and that is casual as well, unless on special dinner occasions when guests are present."

"Sounds good." I chose a printed t-shirt, some vest that was lodged in between two band tees, and boots. "I take it jeans are allowed?"

"A word of advice – the Missus hates flat heeled boots…" So now Con was giving fashion advice too? What a perfect little guy. "One of the Missus's peeves, is all."

I lifted one foot off the ground and observed my glorious four inches. "Too bad." A good boot is a good boot. End of story. "I suppose I'll just be wearing a lot of converse, then."

"Con…verse?" he inquired in a curious tone, probably interested because the noun had his name in it.

I laughed. "It's a shoe made by the muggles. I'll show you later. Anything else?"

"Yes, the Missus doesn't want the Quidditch players over today, so Miss Patience may enjoy the property." Sweet. Less racket, then. "And a personal warning from Con?" he looked up at me, hopefully as I put Rogan's locket around my neck. I nodded to the little guy. "Young Master Blaise and Young Master Draco have been bestest friends ever since Con can remember. Young Master Blaise spends much time at Malfoy Manor, and is considered a resident by all the elves."

That would explain Mrs. Malfoy's earlier comment. "Does he have a room here?" I questioned as I made sure everything was in check in the mirror. Con nodded, and I sighed at the predictability of the fact. "You weren't kidding."


End file.
